Demons of Your Own Making: Run, Like You Always Have
by voxinatwitch
Summary: Alternate Timeline Dr Who crossover for this season. Sam is trying futilely to find Dean,when he runs into The Eleventh Doctor, who offers him help in finding his missing brother. When they find him, though, things spin out of control, forcing everyone involved to face the nasty truth. Prequel: /s/10068809/1/Not-Just-A-Box
1. Chapter 1

Sam turned suddenly, the EMF detector in his hand pulsating with the burst of wind that rippled through his hair. Its needle twitched in a distinct rhythm, a pattern of activity he'd seen only once before-

Was it? But… It couldn't be…

The screeching, grinding noise started, and a large blue box pulsated in and out of existence for a moment, before solidifying, landing, in the middle of the yard.

Oh, yes. It was him. It had to be.

The door of the Police Box opened slowly, creaking, as two figures stepped out.

Sam shone his flashlight at the Time Lord, who had emerged first.

"Hey, Doctor," Sam called, tiredness bleeding through his excitement.

"Hello, Sam!" The Doctor returned his greeting. "You should meet my friend," he continued, as his companion stepped forward into the beam of the flashlight, a man with a goatee and a face Sam would have known anywhere. He grabbed his gun.

" What the hell are you doing with Crowley?" Sam shouted, pointing his shotgun at the Time Lord and the shorter man beside him.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Replied Crowley, looking panicked.

"Sam, please, put the gun down. This isn't your Crowley demon fellow, this is Canton Everet Deleware III."

"I don't…Alright. I'll put the gun down, if he can prove he's who he says he is." Sam pulled a spray can out of his backpack, still training the gun on the pair, as he began to draw on the ground with a sputtering stream of paint.

"What? What the hell are you doing?" The Supposedly-Not-Crowley replied.

"The real Crowley couldn't step out of this. So to prove it you're going to walk through it. If you don't, then you're mine." He explained, walking back and forth as he drew the intricate star shape of the trap.

"I wish you'd listen. This is entirely unnecessary. This man is _not_ your Crowley." The Doctor exhorted.

"I'll believe you if he proves himself," Sam replied grimly, as he finished the painting. The can rattled as he capped it and threw it into his backpack.

"Go on then, I'm waiting." He prodded Supposedly-Not-Crowley, gesturing toward the trap with his gun.

The man sighed, "I still don't see what this will prove," as he strode forward.

Sam expected to see him flinch, or stop, or destroy the trap by inducing an earthquake with is powers or…anything, anything other than strand himself intentionally in the trap.

His eyes widened as he saw the man step over the line into it. "No," he muttered.

"What?" The man replied, taking a few more steps, and….

"No! I don't know what you're doing, but—"

"But what? Are you that crazy you really believe some voodoo symbols actually have power?" The man asked, raising his arms in a gesture of exasperation where he stood, now outside the trap.

Sam scoffed, staring silently at the man.

"Actually, Canton, in different universes, the laws of physics diverge from those you are accustomed to in your reality. It is entirely possible that here a symbols hold untold powers. Sam would be much more knowledgable in that regard than you or even I." The Doctor chimed in.

"You…What did you say your name was again?" Sam asked slowly, shaking his head.

"Name's Canton." the man replied sharply. "And I'd greatly appreciate it if you quit looking for excuses to shoot me. I'm not whoever or whatever you think I am, clearly."

"Sam, as I've been trying to tell you, he is Canton Everret Deleware III from the White House, serving currently…or, rather, not so currently, under President Nixon. He's on a trip with me, you see, as he has been an invaluable help in fighting some of my greatest enemies."

"Seriously, you're from the Nixon Administration?" Sam asked, slowly lowering his gun.

"Yes, although not your Nixon Administration. Different Nixon. Different White House, different universe," Canton replied, extending a hand to Sam, who after pausing a moment, returned the handshake.

"Okay. So, Canton. Look, I'm, uh, sorry I guess about thinking you were Crowley. He's a real piece of work, someone I've been hunting for a while now."

"Hunting?" Canton replied, his expression changing to a mixture of intrigue and concern.

"Yeah, uh…long story."

"Sam, a bit like you and me, protects humanity from those that threaten it. Although I don't rather like that term, hunting, it's what he calls it." The Doctor explained.

"Those that threaten it? Like this Crowley you took me for?" Canton probed.

"Yeah, especially Crowley. And…." He trailed off for a moment. "Look, it's too much to explain. I…can't. I'm busy. And it's good to see you," he continued, wearily, "But I have to keep working."

"Well, what were you working on?" Canton asked.

"I've been investigating a murder, but…whatever did it seems to have moved on. Disappeared. I'll have to keep trying to track it."

"Tracking is all very well, but you do realize you're standing in front of a time machine? Why not just go back to catch the creature beforehand?"

"Canton, you're quite bright. I did promise him a favor once. Perhaps now would be a time to extend the offer once again, provided you're alright with traveling together."

"As long as he cuts out the crazy, we should be OK," Canton assented.

"Well then! Sam, where would you like to go?"

"There's nothing here. This shit isn't worth the time. But… I have something I need to do." He replied, his voice steely with resolve.

"What would that be?"

"You can go anywhere and any time you want, right?"

"Yes, of course."

"Can we have a minute?" Sam asked, motioning to Canton.

Canton nodded, shrugging, and retreated into the Tardis, leaving the two to talk in private.

"So, what's the need for privacy? What are we going to talk about?" The Doctor asked, his eyes gleaming in excitement.

Sam's face fell, the toll of the past weeks showing clearly in his expression as he ran a hand through his hair, before speaking.

His reply was simple, his voice tired, hollow and grim.

"I need you to take me to my brother."


	2. Chapter 2

"Fine. When did you last see him?"

"It was in May, we were in the bunker, when he-he was dead, from fighting Metatron. I lay him out on his bed, and went to summon Crowley. I came back to his room and—he was gone. Just—just gone."

"Well, that's quite odd. Tell me more. Who is this you were fighting, and who is Crowley to you, exactly?"

Sam sighed. "Metatron. He's an angel who….ugh. This is going to take a while. I don't….I don't have time for this."

"You do realize I'm telephatic, Sam?" The Doctor asked.

"Oh, hell no," Sam said, cringing.

"Whatever's the matter?" He had a concerned tone.

"I….No. Last time…well, just, no. I can't do that again. I'd be useless to find him." He clenched his fists.

"Do what again?"

"Last time I had telepathy, I was turning myself into a demon. I can't do that again. I _have_ to stay human this time."

"I understand that whatever happened to you last time was awful, but rest assured, my form of telepathy is nothing like that whatsoever. I'll try to be delicate, my consciousness is infinitely large compared to a human's, but I believe we can do this fairly easily. I will mostly be looking at your memories, but you may find some of mine seep into your consciousness in return. Take my hands."

Sam looked at the Doctor's outstretched hands, hesitating momentarily before taking them. "Fine. But…just…get it over with." He braced for what the onslaught, but found his mind floating off into an abyss of incredible sights. A star turned into a supernova before his eyes, nebulas explosively spawned new stars, galaxies whirled by, strange creatures spoke, metallic dome-like creatures screamed, legions of robots advanced, a blond woman stood with him on a beach, hugging him, dinosaurs roamed, countless humans stood in moments of defeat and victory, another woman with curly hair smiled at him cheekily, civilizations rose and fell, and— he felt something jerk him back, back toward reality.

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again a few times as he adjusted to the shock.

"Sam?" The Doctor said.

"Wh-what? That was incredible." His voice was filled with wonder.

"Yes, I know. As I said before, my mind is quite expansive. I've seen much of my universe and some of the next. But your problem with your brother, I believe we need to address that."

"Yeah." Sam grunted, the grim resolve returning to him as the mental expanse of fantastical wonders faded. "I have to find him."

"What would you like to do?" The Doctor smiled, an infinitely old, knowing smile.

"You'd said we can't cross our own timelines. But we can do anything else, yeah?"

"Within reason," The Doctor replied.

"Is there a way we could track him?" Sam asked.

"Perhaps. The Tardis is psychic. If I could find a way to project your consciousness into her navigation controls, she might be able to zero in on his position in the presence via her tracking and psychic link systems."

"Her what?"

"May I show you?" He extended his hands again, which Sam took.

"Fine."

He saw the interior of the Tardis; there appeared a disheveled woman in a blue ragged dress, smiling, nodding, fading, whispering something to him. There was the same blond woman as before, her eyes glowing, a strange dome-like creature turning to dust, she kissed him and power surged through, burning, so that he could feel destroying every cell in his body, yet everything all at once sat in his mind, the infinite posiblities, the totality of all universes, the sum of everything that ever was, ever would or could be, and everything that must not be—he felt the same tug, and reality returned to his senses.

"Do you understand now?" The Doctor asked.

"I think so. It—the Tardis—_she—_she's alive. She's locked inside that…machine…thing. In that blue box. You're saying you could set up a way for me to communicate with her, and she could use….whatever that is….that…infiniteness she sees to find Dean."

"Precisely," The Doctor replied, smiling.

"You can do that, though?"

"I believe so." He nodded. "That infinite potential I showed you is called the Untempred Schism. It lies at the heart of the Tardis. She travels through it, taking me where I need to go."

"So…you don't…just fly her like a plane or whatever?"

"No. She's conscious, living. I travel with her as much as in her. Sometimes she takes me places else I didn't mean to go, but where I needed to. She just knows."

"Who was the woman I saw?"

"Which woman?"

"The blond woman who kissed you-me-you know. With the glowing eyes."

"She looked into the heart of the Tardis. Her name was Rose—but it—that's not important. We have work to do, don't we?" He motioned toward the police box, smirking ever so slightly as he snapped his fingers. The doors swung open and they entered.

"Well, that didn't take too long," Canton called from where he sat before the center console.

"No, it didn't," Sam said. "Look, sorry about that earlier. I can't be too careful with who I'm fighting."

"Ah, it's not a problem. I'd have done the same if I was fighting something as dangerous as whatever you are dealing with," Canton returned. "So, what's the deal? Are you traveling with us now?"

"Yes, I'm afraid we've had a slight change of plans," The Doctor said, stepping up toward the console, flicking a few switches. "Sam needs our help at the moment. I hope you don't mind the side trip."

"Wherever we go's alright by me," Canton nodded.

"Brilliant. Right then," The Doctor said, going down a set of steps toward a hallway.

"Wait," Sam called.

"What?" He asked, turning to wait a moment.

"Where are you going?! I thought you were going to hook me up to the ship's consciousness."


	3. Chapter 3

"To get matterials!"

"Fine. Fine. Just…hurry. Please." He ran his hands through his hair, the past months' frustration seeping back to him.

"You do realize you're standing in a time machine?" Canton asked.

"And?" He replied as he moved to sit down on a chair before the console, his voice was edged in terseness.

"Hurry is pointless. You can go whenever and wherever you desire." Canton said.

"Yeah. True enough. I just…I'm not used to having that kind of time." He explained. "And, god, I know you can't help it, but sitting here talking to you is so incredibly strange. I mean, usually the guy I know who looks like you would be trying to manipulate me or kill me. Or I him."

"'m not the man you think I am, though. Perhaps you'd like to get to know me to prove the point."

"Sure, whatever." He said, crossing his arms as he glared at the floor.

"No, really. It won't do to go into some situation with you still believing, albeit subconsciously, that you need to kill me. Go on then. Ask me something."

"Fine. How old are you?"

"I'm thirty seven. Easy, yeah?"

"Whatever." He said, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Where are you from, exactly?"

"I was born in England, but grew up here in the states. My mum was a teacher, and my dad was an accountant."

Sam scoffed. "And how exactly did you come to meet the time traveling alien?"

"Yes, the Doctor. I was serving President Nixon as security when he and his friends stumbled into the oval office. They were about to kill him when he shouted 'River, make her blue again' and his giant blue box appeared in the middle of the floor. Everyone else still wanted to shoot, but I persuaded the president to give him a chance. After that it was all we could do to try to fight the real evil, the Silence."

"Silence?"

"Ugly gray beastly alien creatures. They have mental powers that erase your memory of seeing them, yet leave hypnotic suggestion so that you do whatever they bid without ever realizing it. Anyway, with the help of NASA, he hijacked a broadcast of Niel Armstrong, and finally got the jump on them. I imagine they're all about killed off by now." Stanton recounted.

"So…you were really from the Nixon era?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"What about Watergate?"

"What? Do you mean the building?"

"You don't….wow. Historical continuity…. Ok, forget I said anything."

"Fine by me." Sam looked off to the side, making an incredulous face. Time travel just screws everything up, he realized.

"Well!" The Doctor shouted as he came back up the steps. "I think I've got it!"

"Got what?" Sam asked, rising to meet him.

"The matterials!"

"I don't….all you've got here is junk," Sam said questioningly, picking up a colander-like contraption from a box the Doctor carried.

"Hey! Careful. That's the psychic interface link. We'll be needing that shortly. But, in the meantime, I want you to focus on what we're heading for. I need you to choose a memory of your brother so that the Tardis can hone in on his presence in the near future to take us to him. Can you do that?"

"Yeah, I think I can," Sam replied, swallowing hard as if it would help ease the tightness in his throat.

"Good then. You, go sit down. Canton, come help me with this."

Sam nodded silently, pacing back over to the seat he'd been in before while the Doctor and Canton fussed about banging things and rifling through the boxes of junk he'd brought up with him from wherever the coridoor went.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean, he thought. I have to focus on Dean….

So many memories flashed before him. Dean, in a million moments and a million instances. Holding him when they were little while their dad was away on a hunt at night, wrestling as gawky teens, however many thousands of miles sitting in the Impala hurtling away over the pavement over roads, listening to old music and eating bad diner food, Dean, going on about pie, them and Bobby poring over books of research, Dean showing up when he first appeared back from Hell, seeing Dean's face as he was fighting against Lucifer to avoid killing his brother….and finally, out of all of those innumerable moments, one settled and sat in his mind, painfully blotting out the rest. Dean, bloodied and flaccid in his arms. Dead….

Hard lines formed around his nose as he cringed at the memory, which had seared itself into his brain, the sickening gravity of it every bit as vivid now as it had been months ago. He sniffed, his face burning, feeling as if his gut had been ripped out through his throat.

"I…I think I'm ready," he said hoarsely.

"Good then. I think we are too," The Doctor replied.

"Come on then, over here. Sit here, yes—" The Doctor motioned to a strange chair with electrode pads and all manner of gadgetry built into it which he and Stanton had somehow assembled into the console.

Sam slid into the seat, his expression grim.

"I know, Sam. Just hold onto that. We need it. You need it. So that she can hone in on his presence. Just hold onto that memory a little longer."

The Doctor began strapping strange devices onto him—electrode pads of some sort went on his fingers, another on his chest under his shirt, and the absurd colander-shaped helmet went on his head, which he now saw contained a variety of electrode contacts, little flashing indicator lights and diodes.

"You…might want to know," the Doctor said slowly, "It may burn a bit."

"Whatever. Just do it." He muttered, gritting his teeth.

"Alright then. Geronimo," The Doctor breathed, throwing a switch.

With it came a blinding flash of light that seared its way into the depths of his being. And there was presence, of a woman, a voice, that echoed into his thoughts. A disheveled woman in ragged blue.

"Who are you," she asked.

"Sam."

"What are you doing in my inner sanctum?" She probed, her eyes burning golden with unfathomable power.

"Oh, god. Don't do that," Sam said, wincing.

"What?" The woman asked.

"That. It—it usually means bad things," Sam replied.

"Bad things?" She asked, reaching out toward him.

He moved back, away from her reach.

"What the hell are you?" He shuddered, feeling the waves of power she radiated.

" I am many things. I am the Heart of the Tardis. I see the turn of the universe, its birth and its death. I have basked in the light of a billion billion stars, and I have seen their ends. I am the space-time vortex, the Untempered Schism. I am the Bad Wolf."

"Bad Wolf?"

"Yes. I am the Bad Wolf. But who are you, and why have you come to me, Sam?" She asked, lifting his chin with her fingertips. The touch sent an icy yet boiling chill through him.

"I'm Sam Winchester," he said without meaning to. "I came here looking for help to find my brother. But the Doctor, he said you could help. I think that's how I got here."

"Yes, of course, Sammuel," the woman said. "It only makes sense he'd send you to me. My Doctor. Very well. Show me who you seek."

She reached out again, this time putting her hand on his forehead. He allowed her to do so this time, shuddering violently as the searing energy of her consciousness pierced his.

Dean. Dean, now a demon. Dean. Covered in blood, limp in his arms, dead….

He felt the intensity of it grow until he thought his mind itself would burst from the pressure of the memory and the violence of the power coursing through him from the woman.

Just as he was sure he was going to die, he experienced an overwhelming explosion of energy, his vision burning gold like the woman's eyes, his body shaking uncontrollably as he hurtled away through empty space—

"Sam! Sam! Wake up!" Someone was shouting in his ear, yet their voice seemed so small and far away.

"Sam!" Someone was shaking him, a warbling sound passing his ears.

"Wake up!"

His vision faded from black to dark violet, then the speckled orange-brown of the back of his own eyelids. He peeled his eyes open slowly, scrambling to make sense of surroundings.

Oh, him again, he realized, dazed. The Doctor stood in front of him, shouting something nearly unintelligible, holding the same strange device that he now vaguely recalled had been on his head.

"Sam! It's worked. She got what she needed from your memory. She's taking us somewhere," he heard the man say.

"Wh—" he moaned. "It worked!" The Doctor exclaimed again.

"It did? Oh, thank god," he muttered, cradling his forehead in his hands as if to dull the pounding.

"Yes, it did. We're nearly there now," The Doctor replied.

Sam groaned an unintelligible reply, sinking exhausted back into his seat.


	5. Chapter 5

The Doctor smiled quietly, not replying so as to let him sleep. He stepped aside moving to the console, where Canton sat, impassive.

"So. What are we going to do for now?" Canton asked.

"I'm going to get her to delay our landing a bit. It must have taken a lot out of him, the psychic interface and whatnot." With this, he threw a few switches on the console, setting the Tardis adrift in the vortex for a while so that Sam could recover.

The next thing Sam was aware of was the awful pain in his head. It throbbed like a bad hangover and a concussion put together. He sat up a bit, opening his eyes slowly.

"Where the heck am I?" He asked himself as he came to.

"Hello! Good to see, you're waking up." An overly excited man appeared in his vision.

Oh, yeah, him. He'd fallen asleep….in the Tardis, he guessed.

"So….what happened?" Sam questioned the Doctor.

"You don't remember?" He whipped out his sonic, the pulsing sound it made as he ran a scan grated at Sam's nerves like salt into a wound.

"Augh, my head! Stop making that noise," he muttered, cringing.

"Sorry. But it appears there's something going on with your head," The Doctor replied.

"What do you mean?" Sam sat up now, trying to stand.

"Wait a moment," The Doctor cautioned, but Sam ignored him, standing anyway. He faltered a bit, stumbling. "I was going to say, the psychic link appears to have taken a toll on your nervous system."

"What?" Sam snapped, steadying himself against the edge of the console.

"You really don't remember?" The Doctor now began to sound concerned.

"No. I don't. I mean, I remember you were going to….oh. Oh. The woman, called herself the, uh, the _Bad Wolf_. So what, that was all in my head?" He asked, realization showing in his face.

"Yes, I suppose you experienced the exchange as a sort of daydream. Anyway, the good news is, since you seem capable of remembering it, and your balance is improving, it appears it was just a momentary sapping of your neural capabilities, a sort of system overload which you had to sleep off. Do you feel alright, though? A moment ago you mentioned your head."

"Yeah…actually, I feel a lot better now, but that was really, really weird. I'm not doing that again, for sure," he said, shaking his head as his mind began to clear.

"Well, the good news is you don't need to. The Tardis was able to hone in on your brother's location based on your memory of him. And, if you're ready, we can land." The Doctor explained.

"Let's do it," Sam assented.

"Brilliant," the Doctor replied, moving back to the controls, where he initiated the landing sequence.

The familiar screeching met Sam's ears as the Tardis shook briefly, then fell still.

"We're here?" Sam asked.

"Yes. This is where she tracked your brother to. Although I haven't done this with a human before now, it has worked when I did it myself. I can only assume it's correct. She hasn't failed me yet, you know." The Doctor smiled as he spoke, stroking the console as if it were a cat.

"Yeah, I get that, but where are we, exactly?" Sam prodded, irritation seeping into his voice.

"Oh, yes. Time and place…let me see," The Doctor replied, typing rapidly on a keyboard before pausing to read off the monitor.

"It appears we're in Boise, Idaho. But is that what you wanted to know?" The Doctor said, looking at him.

"Date might be good too," he returned.

"It's the same day as it was before…whatever date that is in your universe. I'm afraid she's only calibrated for my universe. Still calculating the date for this one." He made an awkward face saying this, as if to briefly embody his embarrassment at perhaps his ship's only shortcoming.

"Mm, good to know," Sam said, nodding as he headed toward the doors.

"Alright, then," The Doctor said, prompting him to pause a moment. "I don't suppose you'd mind us coming with you?" He motioned toward Canton.

"I need to do this myself. There's no telling what could happen," Sam explained, shaking his head.

"Alright, but be careful," The Doctor warned, waving to him.

Sam nodded grimly, grabbing his bag and his gun from where he'd left them by the door.

He pushed the door open, stepping out into the cold night air.

They had landed in an alley, between to old brick buildings in what appeared to be the red light district of town. A sign in a bar up a ways blinked in the window, the neon buzzing tiredly, perhaps the only thing living besides Sam himself.

He started, whirling about, whipping out his gun when the silence was shattered by the unmistakable sound of glass breaking.


	6. Chapter 6

Shouting, footsteps running.

He ducked into the shadows of the building, moving forward in the cover of darkness to try to get a view of what was going on.

Someone in a dark hoodie was running a ways off up the street.

After a split second of indecision, he jolted to action and took off after them.

He flew over gravel and then pavement, his shoes smacking loudly against the ground. He followed the figure as it turned down the next street, gaining on him rapidly as his greater height gave him an advantage in speed. Yet the person he followed didn't look back, just kept running.

As he got closer, heart pounding in his ears from the exertion of pursuit, he could see the flash of something white in the man's hands.

When he was within 30 feet, he saw the man glance back over his shoulder.

His heart leapt in his throat when he saw who it was. He stopped dead in his tracks, standing agape for a moment before he had the presence of mind to speak. He shouted, "Dean!"

He didn't reply, didn't pause, but with a toss of his head, kept running, leaving Sam where he stood in the middle of the dark, cold street.

He panted, waves of emotion rising and falling with his breath, as he heard a car engine start, its tires squealing as it sped away.

"Dean," he mumbled again, his voice low. "What the hell is going on with you?"

He picked his way back toward the Tardis slowly, concern creasing his forehead.

He knocked on the door, which Canton answered.

"No luck?" He asked.

"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, throwing his bag to the floor a bit too hard, which earned him a disapproving look from the Doctor.

"Careful with her, you know she's conscious. And she's just warming up to you, aren't you Old Girl?" He said.

"Whatever," Sam growled, shaking his head. "I need to be alone. God, I need time to _think_."

Canton shrugged nonchalantly in response. The Doctor looked on, a thoughtful expression on his face as Sam went to sit again by the console.

He gazed up at the ceiling, feeling his eyes fill slowly. He mashed them shut, mouth open in a snarl of pain, trying despite the sheer impossibility to hold it all in.

This failing, he dropped his face into his hands, letting out a slow, shuddering sob. "Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck…everything. What is wrong with you, Dean? What the fuck is going on?"

"You saw him, didn't you?" The Doctor spoke from beside him, startling Sam. He raised his head, turning his face away, grimacing as he tried to pull it together again.

"Yeah," he said, his voice husky with emotion.

"And…he wasn't the Dean you're used to." The Doctor continued gently.

"No. He's not himself. I…I don't… God, _I thought he was dead_! And…and then, he disappeared. There have been reports, a few sightings, but by the time I get there, he's gone. There's absolutely nothing. Maybe he's pulling the tapes or killing witnesses. I don't know. And _nobody_ will tell me anything. Nothing at all persuades them… _Nothing_. And believe, me, I've tried," he said darkly, continuing, " Cas isn't any help, being next to powerless, and….Just…fuck! This life…. I never wanted this life, to begin with, but….at least I used to have him. And now, he's gone too."

"Are you certain of that?" The Doctor asked after a moment.

"What the hell do you know?" Sam spat, his voice raw.

"I know what you showed me before. And I know you're hurting. But think about it, what would make him run from you?"

Sam shook his head, sighing shakily. "I don't…I really don't know."

"But you do. You know your brother better than anyone. "

"Fine. Wild guess, this has something to do with Crowley. He's the only one who could bring him back. But….he must have…changed him somehow. Oh, oh…shit…" He trailed off, eyes widening with alarm.

"What is it?" The Doctor asked.

"Shit. Why didn't I think of it? Crowley's behind this, and…well, he'd been being…really….friendly with Dean before he died. Shit. I think…I think he turned him, somehow. He turned him into a demon."

"I see," The Doctor replied. "It would fit, though, wouldn't it? Why your brother's behavior is so different now, and why he hasn't contacted you."

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, forehead creasing with consternation as he thought.

"Of course," The Doctor continued, "The question would be, what are you going to do?"

" I guess there's only one thing I can do," he said slowly.

"I have to find him. And…I have to change him back."

"But can you do that?" The Doctor asked.

"I…can't. I will die, if I do it. The Trials…it would complete the trials, kill me, and shut off Hell, forever. Which…it… It might be worth—"

"No, Sam," The Doctor interrupted him. "No. If you're anything like the people I know, you are too important to this world, and to your brother, to sacrifice yourself like that. What stopped you during the trials, anyhow?"

"Dean," Sam said bitterly. "It was Dean. I could have ended everything. Heaven, Hell, the damn Apocalypse that keeps trying to come back, _everything_, but he stopped me. I was dying. But…he…he was willing to keep fighting, keep living this shitty life, just to have me with him. He lied to me to get an angel inside me to heal me. He risked everything. Because of him, because of him saving me, Kevin's dead. And…god. I don't know what the hell to do."

He sniffed, running a hand through his hair.

"Well?" Canton approached them from around the other side of the console. "I couldn't help hearing, but it sounds like you have a pretty good idea what to do. Sure, it's bloody awful. But…you do know what you need to do. Start by finding him. Catch him, whatever. And then, you find somebody who can cure him for you, yeah? Just because you can't doesn't mean nobody can, does it? Or is that some special magic thing that only you two can do?"

"He does have a point," The Doctor pressed.

"I…I don't know," Sam replied. "I don't know…but…if…if we could somehow trap him….if I could find someone else to do it…."

"Well then," The Doctor replied. "I suppose the first thing you'd need to do would be find him again."

"Yeah, but this time, I'll be ready."

Sam nodded soberly, standing up slowly with a new determination in his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

"I guess we can do this. There's somebody I need to talk to first…" Sam trailed off, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

…..

Castiel looked up from the road, holding the steeringwheel with one hand while he reached for his flip phone with the other.

"Hello?" He answered it.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said.

"Sam. I was about to call you myself—" Cas began, but was interrupted.

"Yeah, look, I know how to find Dean! I'm with….well I don't know if we ever told you, but, there's somebody you should meet. His name's the Doctor, he has a time machine, and I'm with him right now. Anyway, he's agreed to help me follow Dean."

"Slow down. A Doctor? With…a time machine?" Cas questioned.

"Yeah….it's all really complicated, but the point is, he's kinda like you guys, angels, with like, omniscient consciousness and powers and stuff, but he's an alien. We ran into him once before. You can trust him. Anyways, his ship can take me to Dean. We already did it once—"

"You found Dean?!" The angel's voice raised with excitement.

"What's left of him. He's…I think Crowley changed him. A demon, or something. All I can say for sure, is Dean is not going to come with us willingly. I saw him, spoke to him, and he just ignored me. It's like he's someone else, like, like I….didn't mean anything to him." Sam explained.

"So, he got away?" Cas asked, his voice falling.

"Yeah. He…yeah. He's definitely not our Dean. Anyway, I can track him—"

"That's great news, Sam," Castiel replied, "Listen, go for it if you feel like you can trust this Doctor guy you're working with. But, please, don't confront him without me. I think I'm getting close to regaining my grace. Just…wait a while, OK?"

"You are? That's fantastic." Sam gushed.

"Yeah, I guess." Cas's voice was grave.

"What….what's wrong, isn't that good news?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, no, look…. Follow Dean….just….don't do anything yet without me. Sorry. I've got to go." With that, Cas hung up the phone, frowning as he tossed it back into the middle console.

He sighed, glaring back out at the road. What was coming was going to be hard, he already knew it. Just what it would take, though, he wasn't sure.

…..

"Alright. What do you need to stop him?" The Doctor asked.

"Well," Sam said, "I'm going to need to get a few things, just in case. Cas…Castiel, a friend of mine who's an angel, is hopefully going to get his powers back soon. Anyway, I figure we'll just follow him for a while, see what he's up to, and I'll try to figure out a way to stop him."

Canton nodded, "Yeah, sounds reasonable enough to me."

"Good. So, Sam, what do you need to do to get ready?" The Doctor asked, moving toward the controls.

"Well, I have some of it here…but…I could use to go back to my car, get the rest." Sam said after thinking a moment.

"And what all would that be?" The Doctor asked.

Sam sighed. "Look, I know you don't like guns, but that's the only way through this."

"Just don't expect me to use one. But, better yet, is there anything we can do?" The Doctor asked.

"Well," Sam mused aloud, "It might be a good idea to leave you guys with one. In case anything happened. But regular guns won't work. It has to have the right bullets, bullets engraved with a devil's trap to stop a demon. I've used them before, on Crowley, and on Abbadon. They're the only thing so far that works to stop them without getting close. And believe me, you don't want to do that. Even just being anywhere near Crowley, he can explode your body into nothingness if he wants to. Anyway, if it comes to it, shoot Crowley or any other demon with an etched bullet, and they won't be able to move from the spot they're on, or use their powers. Just…don't count on it working for too long, because they're friggin' cunning, and they will figure out a way to get it out, so they can fight again."

"Alright, that's all fine, but what do you fancy we do once we have them trapped in place with these special bullets? You said they don't work for too long." Canton questioned, his expression skeptical.

"Well, that's where the handcuffs come in. They help, they're engraved with devil's traps too, so that they can't use their powers while they're in them. Anyway, if you can take me back to where we started out, I can get all of it out of my car." Sam explained.

"Alright then. We'll be back to your car in a tick," The Doctor said, "Oh, and by the way, you might want to hold on—" He flipped a sequence of switches and dials, and typed briefly on a keyboard.

The Tardis to begin to shake, the familiar screeching sound echoing as it dematerialized. Sam grabbed a railing as it began to pitch about beneath him, like a ship at sea.

"Well, this is a bit of a ride," he said.

"Eh, you get used to it," Canton returned from where he stood, gripping the edge of the console.

"Are you commenting on my driving?!" The Doctor called from the other side of the console.

"What? No. Just…well, OK, yeah…" Canton feebly attempted to deny the accusation, which earned a chuckle from Sam.

"Is he always like this, though?" Sam asked in a lower voice.

"As far as I know," Canton replied.

"Heh, figures," Sam laughed, bracing as the Tardis jolted again as it flew.


	8. Chapter 8

"Well," The Doctor called out as the Tardis shuddered to a stop.

"We'll be waiting for you."

Sam nodded, "Yeah. Be right back," grabbing his bag and gun, pushing open the doors before him.

He frowned to himself as he made his way out the door, across the cement yard, through the pools of icy, crackling light poured out by the utility lights. He ducked through the gate, the padlock which he'd cut open rattling against the chain link as he passed.

A few quick strides carried him across the gravel to the Impala, which sat, silent, gleaming in the moonlight, grabbing the keys from his pocket as he walked.

"Okay," he said to himself, turning the key in the lock to the trunk. He reached in, grabbing a duffel that held two handguns and the ammo, and put his shotgun back, knowing full well it would be useless against a demon, its size only serving as an encumbrance.

He opened a box that sat in one corner of the trunk, lifting out two pairs of handcuffs. He put these in the bag with the guns, sighing as he slammed the trunk shut.

He felt something inside him, only in the strangest of ways, from handling the guns, the manacles, which he and Dean had used so many times before together. His mind flashed to Dean, so many moments, so many times, throughout their lives. The Impala itself seemed so empty, so dead, without him in it, belting out the same 5 albums worth of rock, whining about wanting pie, heckling Sam, and cracking one-off jokes.

The jokes, the greasy food, the late nights and crushingly early mornings, the thousands upon thousands of miles spent sitting in those leather seats.

He paused, leaning against the side of the car, caught up in his recollections.

"I'm going to get you back," he whispered to himself. "I promise you."

With that, he hefted the bag of weapons, trodding back over the broken asphalt he'd crossed to the Tardis.


	9. Chapter 9

Back inside, Sam put down the duffel, pulling out one of the guns and some of the bullets, which he poured into a zip lock bag.

"OK," He called, motioning for Canton and the Doctor, who had been sitting on the other side of the console, talking, to come over.

"I suppose you got what you needed?" The Doctor asked.

"Yeah, but that's not all. If you're gonna help me with this, you both need to know what to do if a demon comes," Sam explained.

"These bullets—"he picked up one in his hand, holding it up to show The Doctor and Canton—"Are engraved with binding sigils. If you shoot one with this, they can't leave their meat suit, and they can't use their powers."

He stopped for a moment, seeing Canton's confused expression.

"Oh, yeah, right….So, uh, what I'm fighting are demons. They're basically really nasty spirits that went to Hell and became twisted and evil. Anyways, to take on physical form to do stuff, they possess a human body. But they're not trapped in it like your soul is in yours. They can leave if they want to, or you can exorcise them to send them back to Hell, although for now, that's not what you need to worry about."

"That's all very well, but how do I tell who is a demon?" Canton asked.

"Easy. First of all, they'll be coming at you, ready to fight. And they also have a tendency to try to scare people by showing their eyes—their eyes go black. Or red, but probably black. And under no circumstances make any sort of deal with them…if you do, they're just doing it to get your soul, because in ten years, more or less, they're going to come for their end of the bargain and you're going to Hell. It's not a good deal at all, trust me on that one."

"You mentioned they possess human bodies for their corporeal forms," The Doctor cut in.

"Yeah?" Sam replied, shrugging.

"You said to shoot them if they attack. Won't this leave their human host wounded or dead?" The Doctor asked, concerned.

"Well, yeah, but…if they're _coming to kill you_, you have to stop them first, before you can worry about the meat suit." Sam huffed. God, he thought. I don't have time for this...

"You know, I rather dislike that term," The Doctor said, his voice disapproving. "Surely there's another word for it, the humans they possess, because, after all, aren't they still human beings in there, past the demon?"

"Yeah, vessels, if you prefer. Anyways, the deal is, if they're coming for you, you don't have time to worry about them. You have to get away first. I mean, especially since you have Time Lord powers and…yknow. A Tardis? I mean, what would happen if they got their hands on this?" Sam

"The greater good, you mean," Canton nodded thoughtfully.

"Still, innocent humans—" The Doctor insisted.

"_Who are trying to kill you_?" Sam interrupted, impatience making him snappish.

"I was merely going to say, I find it distasteful, however I do understand where you're coming from, in terms of absolute necessity." The Doctor said, raising his hands as if to suppress Sam's rebuttal.

"OK. Good, so…you've at least go that much. If they come for you, _shoot them._ It will hold them in place in their vessels and render them temporarily powerless while the bullet's in, but they will try to get it out, because they aren't stupid. So it won't hold them for long. After you shoot them, you either need to exorcize them or get the hell out of there. Don't hang around waiting."

"Understood," Canton replied. "Speaking of exorcisms, how does that work, exactly?"

"Well, I could give you a copy of the text you'd read to do one, but I don't think you should worry about how to do that right now. If it comes down to it, shoot and run. Don't wait around...it's not worth it with the lower level demons." Sam explained.

Canton nodded. "Simple enough."

"Say, Canton, if you've done White House security, I'm guessing that means you know how to shoot?" Sam asked, holding out one of the guns.

"Yes, of course," He replied, taking it.

"OK, good. This is yours for now, and you'll need these—" Sam handed him the bag with the bullets. "There's only so many, though, so make them count."

"I understand," Canton replied, taking them too.

"Alright then," The Doctor said, "I suppose if you're ready, we can be on our way to finding your brother."

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "So...what will we need to do? Will I have to...y'know-" he motioned toward the chair with the psychic interface at the console.

"No, no, I don't think so. She now understands your brother's spacio-temporal signature. It is just a matter of following it, now that she's locked in. It shouldn't be difficult," The Doctor replied, moving to the console where he proceeded to type on a keyboard, studying the contents of the screens.

"Oh, OK, that sounds good," Sam said, sighing in relief. At least I don't have to go through that again, he thought.

"Oh," Sam said, turning to Canton, "Before I forget, here's a pair of cuffs with binding sigils. And...I'll give you a copy of the exorcism. But again, don't try to exorcize every demon you find. It takes time, and practice. Something you don't have. The cuffs, though, work on the same way as the bullets. As long as they're on, they can't use their powers, and they can't leave their hosts." He handed Canton the shackles, muttering to him "Just a minute, I'll have the exorcism too." He pulled out a notebook and pen from his backpack, which he placed on the edge of the console, and wrote down the exorcism, which he tore out and handed to Canton.

"Good. These might come in handy," Canton replied.

"Yeah. But I hope you don't need them. Anyways, Doctor? How's it coming with finding Dean's signature or whatever?"

"It's coming along well. I think we're nearly ready to depart," The Doctor said.

"Great. Well then, let's go for it," Sam replied, sitting down in one of the seats by the console, holding on to the armrests as the Doctor began the dematerialization sequence.

The screeching echoed, and the Tardis began to shake as they departed.


	10. Chapter 10

The Tardis sputtered a bit as they landed, as if to shake off the sense of urgency that was building inside the console room.

"Alright," The Doctor called as he stepped back from the controls.

"Where are we," Sam asked, standing from where he'd been sitting for the short ride.

The Doctor nodded, pulling up the feed of the outside on a screen.

"Ah, we're in Rock Springs, Wyoming, a bit into the future, by a day or so. It's midmorning out there."

"Okay," Sam muttered. "But you're sure he's here?"

The Doctor typed on a keyboard before replying. "Yes. I'm certain. His spacio-temporal signature is strong in this area. However, I'm afraid she can't track him down to the spot unless you want to land directly on him, so…you'll have to do the rest of that on foot."

"Yeah…no. I somehow doubt squashing Dean would help things any," Sam sighed. "I guess I'll be off then—" Sam nodded to the Doctor, heading for the door, when Canton approached him.

"Hey, wait. I was thinking, what with how dangerous these beings, demons, are, you might should have some help," he explained.

"No, really, I have to do this—" Sam began but was interrupted.

"Hear me out. You've gone to great trouble to explain just how risky an endeavor this is. But think, what if something happens to you? Your brother needs you, yeah? And who would there be if not for you?" Canton asked, putting the gun Sam had given him in a holster at his hip.

"Yeah.." Sam said thoughtfully. "I guess you're right. I just…I can't let you get killed doing this." He shook his head.

"I've fought the Silence, Sam," Canton said. "I can handle myself in high pressure situations. You said to shoot them on sight, and that's what I'll do. They won't have the chance to do anything."

"Alright then. I…I guess you can come. Doctor, though, you'll stay here?" Sam replied, gesturing to the Doctor, who nodded.

"Yes. However, I think I might have something of use to you," The Doctor said. He reached into a drawer in the console, pulling out a large, strange device.

"And…what exactly is that?" Sam asked, making a face.

"It's a psychic implantable communicator," The Doctor replied.

"Oh, OK," Sam said.

"Your hand?" He asked, prompting Sam to extend his hand to the Doctor, punching a button on the device, which sent a sharp pain stabbing through Sam's hand as the device pierced his skin.

He winced, muttering, as the Doctor let go of his hand, the device implanted. "You could have mentioned it was going to involve stabbing me."

"I thought the words 'implantable communicator' would suffice," The Doctor shrugged, giving a wry smile.

Sam chuckled. "Maybe," he replied.

"Eh, whatever," Canton rejoined, stepping up to get his implant.

"Bloody, that does sting a bit," Canton complained, waving his hand as if to dull the pain.

The Doctor didn't respond, instead implanting one in his own hand.

"Yes, so," The Doctor said, flexing his hand with the implant. "Try it out."

He lifted his hand toward his mouth, and spoke something nearly unintelligible into it.

Sam started as he heard the Doctor's voice inside his mind, saying:  
>"I think you'll find it quite handy."<p>

"Yeah," Sam replied into his communicator.

"Yes, quite interesting," Canton told him through it.

"OK, that's kind of weird," Sam said, this time openly.

"Weird? I thought it was brilliant!" The Doctor burst out. "They will allow us to communicate with no interference except in extraordinary circumstance, most notably, they will work to communicate from inside to outside the Tardis. "

"Alright then," Sam said. "That's great. So….what, you'll stay behind and fly behind us, while Canton and I try to tail Dean?"

"Yes. And you'll be able to contact me immediately if something goes wrong." The Doctor nodded, making a shooing motion with his hand. "So, go on then! Find your brother!"

Sam nodded as he and Canton made their way out the door.


	11. Chapter 11

They emerged into the cold, dull gray light that permeated their surroundings: concrete, cars, stores, the downtown of the city.

"So, Dean…" Sam said, his voice trailing off as he took in the environ.

"Right," Canton replied. "You do your thing. I'll hang back a bit and make sure you're alright." He nodded.

Sam muttered his agreement, shaking his head as he concentrated on trying to pick out any sign of his brother from their surroundings.

Dean….he thought. Where are you? Who are you now? What would you be doing….?

He frowned as he noticed a commotion up the street.

Voices were rising and falling in unison, something that sounded like….

A brawl, he realized, as a door up the way ripped open, a group of irate men pouring out, shouting and shaking fists as a pair in the center of the mass duked it out there on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, uh, that looks like it might be him," Sam grunted, eyes on the two men in the center, one of whom appeared, even at this distance, to be of a familiar build, with dark hair. He walked quickly but in a way that he hoped appeared aimless, approaching the commotion. Canton nodded, following him at a distance, pretending to look at the signs that dotted the walls of the businesses along the way.

As he neared the clot of people, he saw that the potential Dean he realized, had the assailant pinned against the sidewalk, punching him repeatedly in the head, the onlookers booing and scrambling about as if uncertain of what to do.

His throat tightened as he saw the man's sleeve pull up, the unmistakable form of the Mark showing on his forearm as he swung for another punch.

Sam grimaced, suppressing the desire to call out. It hadn't worked before. Clearly it would do no good now, perhaps even harm in his brother's agitated state.

Instead, he lifted his hand to his mouth, mumbling into it:

"Up the block a couple doors, that fight. It's definitely him," he said, his voice betraying the underlying tension.

"Message received," The Doctor's voice chimed in his mind. "Carry on."

"Yes, good, keep me informed," Canton replied likewise.

'Yeah," Sam agreed, lowering his hand again.

He swallowed hard, trying to push the emotion back into himself as he focused. The people converged around his brother in the fight, blocking his view.

Grunting with dismay, he crossed the street, walking up the block a bit toward the fray, trying to get a better view.

As he neared, his view still eclipsed by the bystanders, he fought his impulses. Every fiber of his being wanted to rush forward to see him, grab him, stop him, anything. Yet he knew logically it wasn't going to do much good. There were too many people about here, too many to get in the way, too many civilians just waiting to get hurt. It was a fact that Dean wasn't going to come voluntarily, and might even attack, considering there was no telling what changes had taken hold from whatever Crowley had done to him.

He clenched his fist, feeling with his other hand the binding handcuffs in his pocket. If he could get close enough, he thought….

His attention shifted again, his heart leaping as the crowd parted, allowing him to glimpse his brother and his unwitting victim. Dean's figure was silhouetted against the neons in the bar windows as he stalked off up the street, a his gait swinging with a nonchalant swagger.

Sam shook his head, speaking into his communicator as he began walking quickly to follow.

"Hey, he's leaving the crowd, I'm gonna follow."

"I copy," Canton replied shortly, ending the communication.

Sam nodded grimly, focusing on his brother.

He followed at length from the other side of the street, walking two blocks in this manner, before pausing to jay-walk across as Dean darted away around the corner.

Sam grunted in frustration, speaking into his com, "He made a left. I'm following."

He raced around the corner, jogging to try to catch up so he wouldn't lose track. He jerked to the side at the last moment as a woman nose to her smartphone, sputtered at him as they nearly collided. He breathed a thoughtless apology, scrabbling around her to try to keep up.

He groaned under his breath as a clot of people poured out of a building, delaying him for several long moments as he craned his neck to try to watch past heads and shoulders.

People jostled by, the crowd thinning out as he made his way forward again. He paused, swearing as he realized he had lost him.

"Damn," he spat the words, making a face as he spoke into his comm "Do you have some sort of feed you can try to pull him up on? Because I can't see him—"

"Doctor?" Sam called into his communicator.

Silence.

"Canton?"

Nothing…

His forehead creased with concern, as he tried again.

"Canton? Do you copy?"

Error, error, a little voice sounded in his mind. Error, error….

"Ah, shit," Sam muttered, wondering. Where the hell are they?

"Shit…"

"Dean," Sam whispered to himself. "Where the hell are you," his brow creasing with a mixture of disgust, disappointment and pain. He turned, realizing that Canton was suddenly nearing him. Wait, he thought. Something's off….He's….his clothes...he's wearing the wrong clothes-

Canton came to stand beside him, laughing.

"Nice try, Moose."

"Oh, shit." He said, trying to move, but realized, panic mounting, that he couldn't.

"_You're not Canton_," he spat the words.

"No, Moose. I'm not. I'm the King of Hell, and as usual, you're none too bright." Crowley smiled arrogantly.

"Let me go," Sam said, voice shaking with rage.

"Or what? You'll call your alien friend? Shame, you can't get to your communicators, and besides, he's indisposed at the moment," Crowley replied mockingly.

Sam scowled silently, struggling ineffectually against the Crowley's powers, which were holding him in place, unable to move to resist in any meaningful way.

"No, I think you're coming with me. I'm not stupid, Moose. I know you've been tailing Dean. So I decided, it's about time to put a stop to this nonsense. Anyway, come along—" Crowley took a few steps back toward the corner, using his powers to compel Sam to follow. At first he tried to resist still, straining to stay put, to not move, but the invisible force of the telekinesis against his limbs felt as if it were going to crush his bones.

"Really, now, quit fighting. You understand I don't mind breaking your legs to make you move if I have to." Crowley prodded.

Groaning with effort, Sam relented, allowing the unseen force to make him follow Crowley.


	12. Chapter 12

Thanks for all the reviews, Anonymous and Sherlocked! I'm glad you've been enjoying it. Sorry about the lag in updating. I've had some stuff come up, writer's block, and then some extraneous plot bunnies, and then real life keeping me been busy with getting ready to start a new job. lol So again, sorry for the lag but rest assured, I haven't forgotten!

* * *

><p>Sam came grudgingly, still in the grips of the telekinesis, which forced him to follow Crowley around the corner, where he saw a few paces ahead of them, settled back into a corner, a tall blue police box.<p>

"Wh—" Sam gasped at seeing it. He was supposed to protect it, hide her, he thought dourly, anger and concern boiling in his blood.

"Oh, really? You have an infinite resource, all in this giant blue box, and what do you do? You bring it here to my doorstep, a gift for me. All it's missing is one of those atrocious big red bows. Really, though. I'm in control of it. And right now, you're going in, for safekeeping."

"What did you do with them?" Sam grunted, trying to keep from moving from the spot.

"Oh, they're indisposed at the moment," Crowley replied.

"No. I deserve an answer. Hell, just tell me. Then I'll do what you ask—"

"Oh, quit whining. Your alien friend is more or less alright. Now. In!" Crowley snapped his clapped so that he door swung open,

forcing Sam through the door telekinetically with a nod of his head.

The door slammed shut behind him, the empty sound echoing in the seemingly dead console room.

He gasped as he felt the telekinetic powers cease to grasp him, leaving him teetering on his feet with exhaustion as he realized he'd been still struggling against them subliminally, tensing everything.

"God," he muttered, leaning against the wall as he caught his balance.

"Hello?" he called into the emptiness of the Tardis.

It seemed to echo.

"Hello?" He turned around, looking about the console room as if to find something, any sign of the Doctor or Canton…

"Shit," he muttered, kicking the doors, which rattled but held fast.

"Open, damn it," he spat the words, trying again to no avail.

"No, of course not. But…The Doctor…I have to find the Doctor," he said to himself quietly.

He peered into the depths, calling out his name again. "Doctor?"

This time, he heard a hoarse sound. An echoing, coughing, from somewhere up the corridor.

He followed it, calling out again, his walk breaking into a jog, which became a sprint as he raced past doorways, footsteps echoing over the metal flooring as he followed the hallway that seemed to stretch on forever, trying to find the source of the reply.

"Doctor?" He called out again.

"Sam." It was hoarse still, but as he neared the source, the reply grew more distinct, so that the words were discernible. "Sam. In here."

He heard it now again as he rounded a corner, sticking his head through a door. He saw the chamber was some sort of brig, chrome surfaces reflecting the pale face of the Doctor where he sat slumped against the wall behind the chrome bars of a cell that cut him off from the rest of the room.

"Doctor?" He asked, approaching.

"Hello, Sam. Good to see you're alright." The Doctor managed a small smile. "Don't worry with me. I'll be fine. But your Crowley fellow, he's breached the psychic fields. He's in control of her corporeal form at the moment. It's how he got me in here-" he reached out, as if to touch the bars, but a blue spark appeared at the tip of his finger, making a loud zap. "He induced her to create a forcefield to contain me. I can feel her fighting him, locking herself away behind her shields so that she can redouble and try to throw him out, but he's putting up quite a fight..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"So...he's in control?" Sam asked, his expression troubled.

"Not entirely. He has the physical manifestation of her under his control, but she is fighting back, trying to throw him off, but most of all to protect the infinity of reality from his view. She knows he must not see it, must not be allowed to gaze upon the Untempered Schism." The Doctor explained,

"Yeah, but what did he do to you?" Sam pressed, kicking the bars to the Doctor's cell as if it would do any good, to reach toward him. As the toe of his boot slipped off the polished surface of the bars, it hit the forcefield, which crackled loudly as an electric shock seared its way into his foot.

"Ack," he recoiled, grimacing.

"Don't bother, " The Doctor sighed, "It won't do any good. And, to answer your question, as to how he overcame me, well, he induced part of the control modules to electrocute me."

"What?" Sam exclaimed, "But, you're OK now?"

"Don't worry with me, Sam. There are more important things to do right now. For one—"

"_More important_," A sardonic echoed throughout the chamber, startling Sam and the Doctor to looking up and about for its source.

Yet, he could see none. A thin blip of static as the speaker paused betrayed its origin as electronic. From this, Sam surmised it must be being broadcast via an unseen microphone somewhere in the chamber.

"Crowley," Sam growled, tensing as if to fight. "What the hell do you want? What are you doing—"

"Oh, Moose. Again, with the questions. Answer being, it's for me to know, and you, well, not to. I'm not that stupid, unlike you. And I'm the one in control here, so, really, I'll do the questioning from here on."

"Sure you will," Sam said bitterly, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Keep hiding wherever the hell you are, because you know, when I find you—"

"When you find me? Really? Dimwit, you'll be doing no such thing. Perhaps, though, you'd be interested to know a little more about your alien friend." Crowley said over the speakers.

"What about him?" Sam replied, anger rushing to the surface as he spoke, whirling on the spot to search for something to direct his glare at. "What about him? What about him could possibly concern me when _you're_ here?"

"Well, I suppose such subtlety might be lost on you. But, Doctor, forget Jolly Green's stupidity. Let's not kid ourselves. It's not as if you're innocent, as you tell yourself. So, so very many billions have died at your hands. Oh, and those you called your friends. Like Canton. But why don't you keep up your charade? Keep running from the truth, Time Lord? It's always been what you were best at. Run, run like you _always_ have!" The transmission crackled before switching off.

The Doctor stiffened, gazing at the floor.

"Run, from what?" Sam asked.

"From yourself," he said softly.

A heavy moment of quiet fell.

"The terror of a thousand worlds, the blood of your own people, forever staining your back, and forever on your hands. I run from that. The death of everyone I ever knew, or ever will know. All my friends, they've died, because of me. _No one_ _makes it out alive_." The Doctor replied slowly, still staring out across the floor.

"So it's true, what he's saying? You killed them? The people who trusted you?" Sam's face contorted with disgust, as he leaned against the bars, clenching them in his fists as if they could absorb some of the frustration that coursed through his veins.

"It doesn't matter. They died because of me. So very many others."

"But—your friends? Your own people?" Sam gaped, his voice a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"No, you don't understand," His tone seemed half snappish, half exhausted as he looked up, eyes burning with an ineffable mixture of rage and grief.

"Whatever," Sam said, sighing, turning away to sit with his back against the bars, "Forget it. It doesn't even matter. We're stuck in here, and the King of Hell is out there somewhere with your Tardis, possibly getting access to god-knows-what..."

"There was a war. A war bigger than you could ever imagine. The darkest of evil, the Daleks, against my people. Neither was going to win, but they were going to destroy the universe rather than fall. So I had to stop them." The Doctor's voice was low, grave.

Sam turned back to look at him slowly, and saw that he wasn't looking at him, but out across the room. He followed his gaze, where his eyes tracing across the empty expanse of wall.

"I...I guess I see what you mean now. You're not the only one who's faced that kind of choice," Sam said quietly. "I had the chance to end all of this. Close the gates of Hell itself, and I didn't. Dean—Dean kept me from it. Only, now, it's too late. I'm not sure what to do, although at one point, I know he would have wanted me to kill him rather than let him live like this. Thing is, I don't know if I can-"

Sam looked up suddenly as a tremendous rumbling noise shook the air. He scrambled aside, away from the cell, where it was coming crashing down between him and the bars of the Doctor's cell, staring as a partition in the ceiling began to descend. The Doctor said something, but Sam couldn't make it out over the commotion—he felt an unseen force fling him to the other side of the room as another partition now crashed into place in a slot in the floor, an immovable steel wall dividing the room so that he was cut off completely from the Doctor.

"Shit," Sam moaned to himself, his head pounding from the impact against the floor from whatever had sent him sprawling.

"Finally, Moose. You got something right," Crowley growled as he emerged through a door to the next compartment. "You're in for quite a bit of that, actually. Now, come on, there's someone you should see."


	13. Chapter 13

Sam muttered angrily to himself as he felt Crowley's telekinesis grip him again, scowling as it compelled him to stand.

"Look! Back off, OK?" Sam snapped, scowling.

"Oh, touché, Moose. Touche. Really, though, why would I let you go even in the slightest? No, I don't think so. I'm in charge. And you're—" With a quirk of his eyebrow, Crowley forced Sam to raise his arm from his side "-Doing—" Now Sam's arm was forced back behind him "—_Whateve_r—" His elbow was bending now _" I want."_

With that pronouncement, Crowley forced Sam's hand into an unnatural angle, the small bones and ligaments in his wrist exploding with pain which left him gasping, stumbling as he struggled forward instinctively as if to escape, falling as Crowley neglected to intervene.

The grip on his wrist released, allowing his reflexes to snap his arms out In front of him, only instants too late, he realized, a mistake. He shook as his injured hand contacted the ground.

"So, Moose. Let's try this again. But be a good little idiot, that is assuming you're intelligent enough to understand my orders. I have plans in addition to merely enjoying tormenting you, which I'd like to get on with."

"Go to hell," Sam muttered through gritted teeth as he righted himself.

"Oh, wait, what's this, dumbass? I already own the place."

With a thrust of his hand, he forced Sam to follow him up the corridor, the metal flooring clicking underfoot in the unnatural silence of the time machine. They made their way out into the console room, where Sam tried to pause, earning only a disgruntled 'tsk' from Crowley, who pressed harder against him, making him comply with the unspoken demand to move along.

He was propelled ahead of Crowley out the front door of the Tardis, which slammed shut behind them, the sound echoing emptily in what Sam could see was a bare, old room. They were in some old-fashioned abandoned house, from the looks of it…

"How the hell—" Sam began.

"What, you think I don't have plenty of servants running about to do something so simple as transport a glorified phone box?" Crowley scoffed. "But less mouth, more moving—" he gave him a telekinetic shove toward some stairs, which he scrambled down to keep from falling again.

"Where are you taking me?" He demanded as he descended ahead of Crowley into the darkness of what seemed to be a cellar.

"You'll see soon enough," Crowley said as he paused to throw a switch, which flooded the room at the bottom of the stairs with the flickering light of a utility bulb.

Sam squinted as his eyes adjusted. It was indeed a cellar, concrete floors, stone walls, windowless, with—some surprise, Sam thought bitterly—was set up as a dungeon.

"Shit. Just-" Sam muttered, breaking off when he heard someone else speak.

"So," a voice called, its owner moving from the shadow at the edge of the room. "You wanted to meet up in here, now tell me what all this is about."

Sam stared as his brother came to stand in the center of the room, his features looking unnaturally harsh in the flickering light of the utility bulb. Dean gave no sign of recognition, no flicker of acknowledgment, good or bad. He just looked past him, up the stairs at Crowley, who he regarded in an alarmingly casual manner.

"You see, Squirrel, I brought you a present," Crowley deadpanned from where he was midway up the staircase as he forced Sam against the wall. who had finished his descent, to to finish his descent, o stand beside him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Really, with the nicknames still? What did I say, about that, huh?" Dean prodded, completely ignoring Sam as he spoke to the elder demon.

"In case you've forgotten," Crowley sniped. "I am the King. And as King, I will call you whatever I bloody well please."

"Really?" Dean scoffed. "I mean, you called, and I came, might I mention I left karaoke hour to come, so for fuck's sake, what is this about? And I'd like a straight answer before I start getting really pissed off. Y'know, since it might not exactly be in your interest for that to happen and all." He subtly moved his jacket tail to reveal the handle of the First Blade protruding from his pocket.

"Yes, yes, it's simple, really. We're here to have a long overdue good time," Crowley responded.

"Normally, I'd be down with that. Bring the whiskey, I can party anytime. But if that was really your plan, why would you've brought _him_?" Dean replied, gesturing toward Sam, who made a noise in his throat, choking back the emotion that made him shake in the demon's grasp.

"God, Dean, it's me!" He blurted, breaking off in a groan as Crowley jerked his already injured arm.

"Less mouth Moose, if you please," Crowley scolded. "The sound of your voice just ruins the delightful atmosphere we have here."

"Whatever you say, Lucky," Dean jibed, earning a scathing look from Crowley.

"Alright, enough mucking about. We ought to get down to the fun of it," Crowley said, shaking his head. "You, forwards."

He gave Sam a telekinetic shove, sending him forward across the room to the far wall, where sets of rusted-looking shackles hung, bolted to the stone walls.

As he came to a stop mere inches away, he realized with a rising panic that the red-brown substance on them wasn't rust; it was in some spots, still liquid, still dripping.

"Still don't see how this is supposed to be enjoyable," Dean said, leaning jauntily against the wall as he settled back to watch whatever was going to transpire.

"Oh, relax. We'll get through the fun of this, and then I'll break out the Craig," Crowley said. "Rest assured, it is a thing to drink to."

He smiled darkly as he used his powers to pin Sam to the wall so hard that the rough stones dug into his back, forcing the air out of his lungs.

He gasped, breathless, as Crowley snapped first one shackle, then another shut around his wrists.

"I don't know what you think you're going to do," he choked out as the pressure on his ribs relented, "But you're not going to—"

"I have to agree with him on this one," Dean spoke up, cutting him off. "I mean, if you're that bored, need to get your fix for torturing or whatever, let's find a few more of Abbadon's mooks. I don't mind, it's practically sport."

"No, I assure you, this has nothing to do with any supposed addictions on my part. I do have something in store, though, if you'd give me a bloody chance to explain!" Crowley snapped back, face reddening somewhat as he glared at Dean.

"Now, if you'll just allow me to begin our little party," he growled menacingly, raising a hand in front of himself, he clenched his fingers, claw-like, which triggered a grinding in the shackles.

A pinching, tearing at his wrists startled Sam. He bit back a scream as sharpness cut slowly deeper and deeper, like hot irons burrowing their way into his bones.

"So, Moose, do you see? Whatever you were going on about earlier is pointless. I am in charge here."

Crowley drew an angel blade from a sheath on the wall, slowly turning it over in his hands as he walked toward Sam, pointing it at his chest.

"I still don't know what you want, Crowley," Sam spat the words, voice shaking.

"I want? What I want—" He reared back his arm with the sword, swinging it toward Sam's face only to stop it an instant before it hit. "Is a perfect Hell. Me and your bother can create it. Except there's just one thing to deal with first. "

Crowley gestured with the sword as he spoke, looking thoughtful before lowering it again, a malicious look in his eyes as he gestured with an upturned hand, the shackles now glowing red-hot.

He waited for Sam's cries to die down before speaking. "Now, relaly, I could do this all day, but there's more pressing matters at hand—"

"Dean, please, please don't let him do this," Sam choked out as he caught his breath. "Just—just let me go-come with me! We can work through this, like—like—"

"Seriously? What makes you think I'd want to 'work through this?'" Dean began, nose wrinkling as he waited through his brother's moaning as Crowley again tightened the shackles before continuing, "Have you even stopped to think, that oh, I don't know, maybe I like this? Maybe I don't want to go back to being weak, mortal, human me?"

"Dean! No, no, Dean! Make him stop-" Sam's voice rose to a scream as Dean turned away, and Crowley, with a tilt of his head, tightened the bands of the shackles so that they cut deeper into his wrists.

"Emotion, pain. You know, it's incredible you morons have made it this long, Moose. So many weak spots. So many vulnerabilities. Look at you now. Your own brother is finally proving himself to be the stronger of the two of you. You were Azazel's chosen, but Squirrel, Michael's sword, wielding the power of the Mark, well, look who's the better of you now." He laughed.

Dean grunted at this, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Between gasps for breath, Sam felt an awful emptiness growing inside him, so large it was quelling, the desire to scream, to fight…

"Crowley—" Dean began, but was interrupted by the other demon.

"Sam, don't you just wish it was over now? Hell's won, and you're of no use to me, or him, at any rate. Oh, and, Dean, what more perfect way to seal the bargain, to right the numerous ways you've tried to sleight demon kind, than to get rid of your pesky brother? Prove yourself-"

"Now you just wait a goddamn minute," Dean reacted to this, cutting Crowley off as he stepped between the King of Hell and his brother.

"But—" Crowley protested.

"No! You, just shut up for a fucking minute! I don't know what you think you're getting at, but—"

As Dean spoke, the doors burst open. Both demons whirled, Dean hefting the blade, an expression of shock twisting his features as a searing light burnt into the room. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head away as far as he could.

_Bang. Bang._


	14. Chapter 14

Per anonymous' request. :) Thanks for the reviews. Here's the next bit!

...

Crowley shouted as gunfire shattered the already searing air in the oppressive room. A high-pitched whining assaulted his ears as the blinding light subsided.

Gingerly, Sam peeled his eyes open.

"Never cross a Time Lord," The Doctor proclaimed, who now stood in the middle of the room, earning a wordless growl from Crowley, who rolled his eyes from where he sat, stuck in place on the floor.

"Wh—what was that?" Sam gasped. "I thought it was Cas, but his grace-"

"No, not your angel friend. Just some singularity charges," The Doctor replied, smirking. "A lesson borrowed from an old friend. Ace, quite a clever girl..."

"But-who shot Crowley, and Dean? You don't have a gun…?" Sam interrupted.

"Oh, I had some help," he said, as Canton came forward from the shadows at the back of the room.

"Hello, Sam," Canton nodded coolly.

"But…Crowley…. I thought he killed you!" Sam exclaimed.

"Oh, no. He rather likes me. Says we think a bit alike. Anyhow, he just had me shackled up somewhere. This came in handy, though," He twirled a metallic object, the sonic screwdriver, Sam realized.

"Yeah…so….I guess you got the gun?"

"Oh, yes. The Doctor wasn't too enthused with it, but I assured him it was worth it, saving you and whatnot. I, uh, did have to shoot your brother, though. Sorry about that." He nodded to Dean, who lay crumpled on the floor, glaring silently at the two intruders.

"Yes, by the way, I'll be having that back now," the Doctor said, taking the screwdriver from Canton, going immediately to work on Sam's shackles.

"Bloody Time Lords," Crowley muttered bitterly. "I should have known…"

"Yes, yes you should have," The Doctor replied, looking up from his work for a moment. "You knew the stories. But you thought you were stronger. Even the Daleks, the darkest evil of my universe, fear me. You should have taken the warning."

"Oh, come on, now you're just bragging!" Crowley snarked.

"Shut up," Canton admonished, smacking him over the back of the head. "If you quit whining, maybe we won't get his angel friend fry you inside out."

"Castiel? The disgraced, Castiel, who has a stolen grace? Oh, I'm so scared," Crowley remarked.

"No, really," Sam cut in, stepping away from the wall as the Doctor released the last of his bonds. "You might not have Cas to worry about, but you have _me._ Do you really think you're going to get away with this? Turning _my brother_ into a demon? Maybe you've heard, just what I've managed on my own." Sam continued, a quiet rage seeping into his voice.

Canton shrugged, relenting to allow the two to continue their exchange. He and the Doctor stood by, looking on.

"Oh, yes, I've heard Sam. I've heard all about your escapades as of late. It's rather the irony, how you still think yourself so superior, going around, flaying alive lower-level demons, left and right. Convincing humans to sell their souls. Killing them all alike for no reason whatsoever, except you're _so desperate_ to find your brother. Well, I think you can see. Dean's here, and he's happy with his life. The only thing he isn't happy about is _you_."

Crowley finished, smirking, a heavy silence filling the room.

"Sam?" The Doctor spoke up after a long moment, stepping toward him. "Is it true, what he's saying?"

"What about it?" Sam huffed.

"You've been torturing and killing living, sentient beings, humans as well as demons that have done nothing?" The Doctor pressed.

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "Look, the humans, I tried to stop, but really, the demons? What do you expect? And what else do you think they deserve—"

"Yeah, because we all just deserve to die," Dean cut in, his voice bitter, blinking deliberately as he stared his brother, allowing his green eyes to turn black.

"_You _are different, Dean!" Sam exclaimed, his words raw with emotion.

"Really? Am I? I'm a demon, Sammy. Just saying, maybe you ought to think about the ideals you're fighting for, OK?!" Dean spat the words, turning away from him as he finished speaking.

"You keep running from the truth," Crowley said smugly, crossing his arms. "You, and your alien friend. You're not so different from me. And no better. We all just want to survive. Demons. Daleks. Time Lords, but if you had your way, why you'd kill us all."

"Stop it," The Doctor admonished. "You don't know what you're talking about. They were going to destroy _reality itself_—"

"Oh, boo, hoo, reality itself. It's always excuses with you lot—" Crowley rolled his eyes as he spoke, his tone scathing.

"No, no, it's not!" The Doctor shot back, his voice growing harsh with anger. "You were not there. You know what you've been told, but you cannot begin to understand what happened. So, just, shut up already. You aren't the one making the decisions here. _I am_. And_ I_ am talking. So please, just, shut up! Let me think."

"Oh, that's all very well," Crowley said anyway, returning the glare the Doctor sent his way. "But what are you going to do? What can you possibly do to the King of Hell? And besides, who are you to judge, the man with the blood of millions on his hands?"

The Doctor looked away, shaking his head, waiting a moment before he spoke, his voice soft, but filled with tightly suppressed rage. "Canton, do you have the duck tape?"

"Yes, of course," Canton returned, pulling a role of it from the pack he was carrying.

"Please see to it he doesn't disturb us anymore," The Doctor said.

"No, you wouldn't," Crowley shot back as Canton approached, tearing off a piece of duck tape.

"Really? Try me." With that, Canton pressed the tape over his mouth, silencing Crowley.

"Sam? Can I trust you not to do anything rash?" The Doctor stood before him now, face grim.

"I don't know why you're suddenly changing tunes, but yeah. Nothing's any different than it was yesterday." Sam replied, frowning. He was going to believe Crowley, over me, he wondered, anger growing inside him.

"I want you to escort Dean back to the Tardis," The Doctor said, "And Canton, you get Crowley. And I will be watching all of you. It seems my regard was misplaced in you."


End file.
